Sacred Heart

I see your heart emblazoned in the sky
the holy ventricles radiating yellow gold
glory bleeding into the firmament, a ring
of barb wire thorns that press into apple
red flesh, there is no salvation without
pain, no journey up a cliff without calluses,
no mountain unclimbed without bruised hands,
and I am on my knees parched, lapping at your
love.

Advertisements

The Richness of Red

Sweetness of roses and summer breath of cicadas
meditation on the mountains and flowing rivers clear
I always return here year after year, to Mount Zion
arms and Paradise tears, everything in you is gold,
and I am silver, the moon to your sun, and sweet angel,
I offer my heart to you for the feast, as you braid
my hair into elegies and sing to me homilies, parables
at your lip as I call you to shelter me underneath your
wings, I am past fledgling now, full bloom birdling,
and I can fly, my king, on your winds I can soar, and
there is nothing in you that is not whole, oh quaking
wisdom of the earth, oh fires of the stars, a million
blinking blue eyes, a billion pinions fanning flames,
you carry the Throne but in quiet moments you paint,
and your canvas is my tapestry, and life is your design,
so Michael, I gift you my colors, let us fill this world.

Storm at Sea

And I’m sitting on the sofa, when suddenly my left side
aches and ices, and Asmodeus appears in a poppy blooming
robe and fuzzy red slippers, neckline lowered to reveal
skin like Montezuma gold, smoking a long pipe of opium.
It is only the afternoon, far from the time demons play,
yet he drapes his arm around me with talons painted black,
bares his clawed toes and crosses his leg as he blows acid
smoke in my face, my nose burns with the finest of drugs
and manic dreaming as he eases into my curves, humming
a Black Sabbath rhyme to himself, Mr. Crowley on his white
horse, and later that night, he curls up in a nest with me
outside as I sit gazing at fireflies, and the dragonflies
shudder at his cold, and I feel as if frost is settling
over the summer, past midnight he massages my back to
freezing, where my wings are weighed down with the void,
and Deus is atop my cerebellum, whispering wicked delights,
when we dance like water mocassins, it is with deadly
precision and lips like knives, our moans are fangs,
our limbs are razors, and there is nothing soft and smooth
about this, yet everything is gentle like gears serenely
churning dreams into reality, and the Son of the Dragon
Sakhr is tempting and sinuous, like rain in an oasis,
and the waters the camels drink from reflect he of
scaled leg and she of serpent tangles, and reptillian
witch and komodo dragon flick forked tongues to scent out
prey with heady cortisol racing through blue veins,
bite down on the sacrificial goat and know usurpant
secrets, coddle your darkness my child and rise proudly
to the Heavens, Saint Peter will fall to your sword, so
storm the Pearly Gates and claim your Kingdom Come.

No one will grant you a happy ending but eating your gods.

Take your glory by force alone, and drink the blood of angels.

We are Legion, and we are lightning, so quake in our electricity.

We are only here to feed.

Ball Lightning

There is nothing in you that is not blue violet thunder,
a love like rains clefting open the Earth, your dominion
is the lightning strike and petrichor summers, sweet holy
decadence of storms fructifying and revitalizing our bodies.
We eat your blood because your blood is rain. We devour your
flesh breathing because your body is thick, misty air and not
to inhale is to choke on hurricanes. There is no question of
whether or not to breathe you in, and with a love like yours,
why, I stand cradling ball lightning, dancing with St. Elmo’s
fire, and your Holy Ghost dances like a blazing purple white
star, there is nothing beyond necessity in my devotion towards
your blood, your bones, your manna and succor of your veins.
And I am dancing in the tornado, flying through thunderheads.
I meet you where stars kiss the ocean on a stormy night, oh
Lord, lay me down on your crackling bed, make love to me like
the skies weep onto my mother mud, appear to me manifesting
pure being, the heady death of all my fears, a ship set sail
on gales, and I will die, but it will be beautiful, and I will
ascend to vast summits of ice crystal castles, in union with
you, oh my God, oh my Lamb, oh my thunder strike and lightning
whip, the heavens are but a metaphor for airy wanderlust, and
love makes the storm grow bold and prance for the meadows,
the valleys of my heart open up for your rain and holy pain,
oh Christ, do not forget me in your Passion, for I weep rivers
of gold at your feet, and my madness in the desert, hair grown
long to cover my nakedness, is but the raging sylphs themselves.
I will bottle your blood and wine then pour them over the oceans.
I will stand on cliff’s peak and proclaim your love of All.
Long-suffering Jesus, killing himself to make whole the world,
I would but a taste of your Sacrament, like rain, like grain.
I spread my legs wide to receive the Cross, I hug my breasts
and let rivers of milk flow to my cleft, a Sacred Whore who
nourishes the moon at her side, twin sun and lunar bodies,
which are just like your eyes, and Mother Nature is calling,
your Virgin birth, so fly away from my dust and ribs and clay.

I am only made wholly through your rains.

Washed Away

The water is cool as ice, floating with roses
Christ drips it over my shoulders and thighs
and the baptismal font of his blood trickles
down my limbs and into my sex, tingling with
divinity and agape Passion, this liquid topaz
a calyx of rebirth and love, he sets to washing
my feet painted with the travails of Eve, over
time in the wilderness, outside the banks of
Eden’s glens and pastures, the arches of my
beauty disappeared, and I was left with skin
sipping sweet mud, earth my body, clay my bones.
Christ scrubs away the past, the present, future
open wide like the beak of a bird, calling out
I am not alone, I am here, I need a forest in
which to spread my wings, and the rain washes
away all my fears, and the love of the Lord is
a thunderstorm in summer’s mist, high in the
mountains, and the Savior kisses my toes and
carries me on his back like a cross to where
I can taste the manna of clouds, and I reach
out to the starry crown of rose thorns to make
them bloom blue, cyan as the rivers that cry
for love of flow, freedom the span of His wings,
the cradle of his arms rocks me to the music of
the drum of long ago dances, we were all born
perfect and holy, how could we forget our gold
birthright? The rubies of our blood? The diamond
of our ribs? The chocolate gold of our skin? Can’t
you see God’s eternal flame of love? Can’t you
swim in flood waters and walk on the crest of
waves? Know this power you have child, to weave
saccharine miracles and cloying bodies of seraphs.
We are all Creators, we are all repentant whores.
Don’t be a slave to your work, there is no sin,
just forgiveness and feathers to make your body
capable of flight, you are not Icarus but Daedalus,
you will find safe harbor in Heaven’s arms! This
minotaur labyrinth with pain at the center is not
your harvest, you will reap peace when your wheat
grows in the sweet words of the prophets raising
crops of your deeds so high the sunflowers of your
lungs and voice of prayer becomes part of the gardens
of heaven, you are saved, you are worthy, you are loved.
So greatly loved, never feel alone for He walks with
you, the demons hold no sway over your path, your
road is the narrow yet beautiful bloodstone and lapis
lazuli carved into your marrow, oh you foolish child,
play with the dirt and worms and rocks and remember,
you are free, you can fly, you can laugh, you can cry.
Just kiss your own hands and worship your calluses,
for Christ loves a hardworking man, and as he cleanses
all the scars and pain away with fingers of silver,
he is melting the ice of your heart into a sea of
healing fonts, you are the Word given life, the gift
of God, you are a delight, oh my child, oh you kindred
soul, drink at my breast and be free, fly on, sweet
darling, soar on!

Aftershock

And the aftershock of grief sends you reeling into
patterns of world destruction, you have a razor
carving red canyons into your skin and chopping lines
of coke that you snort until your nose bleeds, I see
you and feel you and become your junkie manic rage
through symbiosis of the soul, and your parasitic
connections makes me feel the scorch marks on my
nasal membranes and a high like diving off Icarus’
cliff, there you are your snake black smoke hair
writhing and strangling me in your embrace, you
turn the faucets on weeping and roaring, your trench
marks of cuts and lacerations and bruises joining us
in the Unholy Passion of the Devil’s self-harm, you
sink into alizarin waters as your juices soak up
all the light, and it is swirling onyx and rubies
as you become a sea serpent biting its own tail,
Jesus Christ, it hurts, you drowning yourself but
your lungs don’t need oxygen and so you turn the
bathroom into an ocean of acid void, sizzling
pantomimes of what was once flesh, now bone, and
with your scythe in hand, the sulfur having eaten
your flesh, you reap and carve out drunken universes,
whole galaxies fall to your blade, you laugh maniacally,
still riding the drugs and endorphin buzz, exerting
your death grip manhood to assert dominance over
the innocents, this is the Plague of Egypts overcoming
burgeoning civilizations, yet you spare the Milky Way
because lo and behold, your Horcrux Girl lives there,
and then you are punching my guts and butchering my
lungs, be careful my darling, be careful what it takes,
from what it seems so far all the good ones seem to
break.

Carry Me

The image of you clad in radiant light, like some
heart of a star, bleeding white gold glory, oh sweet
Yeshua, pulsing like solar flares, you lay hands on
me and I dream of the Tzohar, the Lapis Exillis, your
Cup, the Holy Grail that poor Parzival quested after,
you know the angels robbed Parzival of his virtue and
the Fisher King wounded him at his groin, just like
Jacob wrestling Samael, or was it Michael? Perhaps Jacob
is immortal, sweet guardian of your blood, and from his
groin descended the sleeping generations of all nations!
Oh the glory of God, oh the glory of Heaven, oh the
righteousness yet meekness of the lamb, soft is your
wool, sweet Jesus, and smelling like dragon’s blood
does your mane, Lion of Judah! You are an omnivore,
as is your birthright, to drink down blood of the
covenant, cannibalizing yourself, and I have tasted
the Passion in my labor pangs of birthing new worlds
in the wastelands of the asylum, where many go into
the Tomb, only to rise in white gowns anew, and I am
healed by your blood, blood, red and white blood and
water, oh sweet Christ, how you rage at the unjust,
how you cradle me and rock me to sleep, singing the
lullaby B’shem Hashem, you make my throat burn with
a choked on Sacred Heart, the gristle sticks in my
esophagus, and I eat my gods, but you are the One God,
and there are layers like a carapace to divinity, and
you are nothing but Nature Incarnate, sweet yet fierce,
for Nature is Sophia, your Mother Goddess, Asherah,
the Lady Holy Ghost! Wisdom speaks and Eloa ascends,
Norea descends, Eve is Ninti, Lady of Ribs,and you are
Enki in the Garden of Eden, for what separates Enki
from Christ? Not much, I can tell you, Lord of Waters!
Soft and gentle, strong and firm, your skin and flesh
an apple for the plucking, your hair brown boughs to
nest in, your lungs fit for breathing fire at End Times.
Your Mysteries are Holy Passion Plays, mummer’s delight,
and I am Columbine masked as I climb the Sephiroth, the
paranormal romance writers and urban fantasiests write
about angels and demons but always forget the Lord, who
through all things are made, and to have a lurid Devil
one must also admit the existence of Unconditional Love,
for hate is but the absence of God, but the Devil does
not hate, simply mourns, and he spits at your feet as
you, with the best of Serpents, crush Samael’s head!
Break the skull of Satan open and shove in redemption,
for there are two Mourning Stars in this story, and a
glimpse of Heaven is worth seven Hells, but I am welcome
above and below, and I know my path lies with you in sweet
eventuality, when I am old and gray, and you take me to
ascend to Narnia in your Aslan arms, sweet Savior, ready me
for the long journey home…